Prut! And why should Caspar take his hen to the fair? That was what the landlord said. It was a silly thing to tramp to the river for water before the well was dry at home. Why, the landlord had a friend over yonder who would give ten pennies to one that he could get at the fair for his black hen. Now, had Caspar ever heard tell of the little old gentleman who lived in the old willow-tree over yonder? No, Caspar had never heard tell of him in all of his life. And there was no wonder in that, for no more had anybody else, and the landlord was only up to a bit of a trick to get the little black hen for himself. But the landlord sucked in his lips—“_tsch_”—so! Well, that was a pity, for the little old gentleman had said, time and time again, that he would give a whole bagful of gold and silver money for just such a little black hen as the one that Caspar carried under his arm. Dear, dear! How Caspar’s eyes did open at this, to be sure. Off he started for the willow-tree. “Here’s the little black hen,” said he, “and I’ll sell her for a bagful of gold and silver money.” But nobody answered him; and you may be sure of that, for there was nobody there. “Well,” says Caspar, “I’ll just tie the hen to the tree here, and you may pay me to-morrow.” So he did as he had said, and off he marched. Then came the landlord and took the hen off home and had it for his supper; and there was an end of that business. An end of that business? No, no; stop a bit, for we will not drive too fast down the hill. Listen: there was a wicked robber who had hidden a bag of gold and silver money in that very tree; but of that neither Caspar nor the landlord knew any more than the chick in the shell. “Hi!” says Caspar, “it is the wise man who gets along in the world.” But there he was wrong for once in his life, Tommy Pfouce tells me. “And did you sell your hen?” says John and James. Oh, yes; Caspar had done that. And what had he got for it? [Illustration: The cunning landlord telleth Caspar where to take his hen to sell it for a good price.] Oh, just a bag of gold and silver money, that was all. He would show it to them to-morrow, for he was to go and get it then from the old gentleman who lived in the willow-tree over yonder by the inn over the hill. When John and James heard that they saw as plain as the nose on your face that Caspar had been bitten by the _fool dog_. But Caspar never bothered his head about that; off he went the next day as grand as you please. Up he marched to the willow-tree, but never a soul did he find there; for why, there was nobody. Rap! tap! tap! He knocked upon the tree as civil as a beggar at the kitchen door, but nobody said, “Come in!”